Loki and Ingrid 17

During Thor 2: Enjoy!

The Prisoner and the Guard

I approach the dungeons in the flickering candlelight, still weary, but unable to sleep. It’s past the stroke of twelve, and most everyone is asleep, preparing for their lessons or sparring in the morning. I remember the directions Queen Frigga had secretly given me, as she could use an illusion to get inside, as I tiptoe down the narrow hallway, the creaking stairs, until I see the glass cell itself, in which Loki is being held.

          “Stop, right there!” I am so taken aback by the spear pointed straight at me, that it takes me a couple of seconds to recognize the young, handsome guard.

          “Calder?” I know my voice sounds shocked as I take a step back. “What are you doing here?”

          “This,” he indicates at the cell, “Is my new post. Night duty.” He doesn’t lift the spear. “I knew you’d be here, Ingrid. To see your friend. Horrible crimes he committed, Ingrid. You can’t just forgive someone for that.”

          “Point that somewhere else,” I say, staring right into my brother’s eyes, “And then we’ll talk.”

          “Fine,” Calder sighs, dropping the spear on the floor with a resounding clash, “Just tell me more about him, the false prince—”

          “It wasn’t his fault! He was—”

          “Don’t tell me foolish stories, Ingrid. You’re but a small girl, and a fool.”

          “I refuse to answer to you,” I say, advancing, locking my eyes on his, “I answer for myself! I swear, I saw it, everything, I was there! I was tortured! Why don’t you believe me?”

          “Well, it was your own fault for hanging around him, and if he was tortured, all I can say is he deserved it, but I refuse to believe that for a second. He’s a Frost Giant, and evil is in their blood.”

          “No, that’s not true! How is it so hard—”

          “OUR PARENTS DIED, INGRID! THEY WERE MURDERED, FIGHTING THE RACE OF MONSTERS ON JOTUNHEIM! HOW DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND!”

---

I was but five when it happened. I was playing in my room, with my toys, two dolls, that I had given absurd Midgardian names, Izabel Amariya, and Anaya Ottinheimer. I had decided from the day they were given to me, that the two were to be sisters, since I had always wanted a sister, and they were going on a grand adventure outside of the castle, riding on horseback into battle. Izabel loved the glory of the fight, but Anaya preferred to stay in and read.

          I heard a soft knock on my door, and it was my eldest brother, Canute, along with one of our nurses.  

          “Where are Calder and Colby?” I asked, it being a curiosity that they hadn’t returned yet. The nurse wiped her eyes with a handkerchief than said, “Miss Frida is attending to Colby now. I am not sure where Calder went; he was right here.”

          I can remember something registering in my brain, Canute comes over to me, with the nurse. “Ingrid,” he says it softly, trying to give me warning in his voice. “Something terrible has happened.”

          “What happened, big brother?” I asked, my innocence not yet lost, “Did Alva lose my necklace again?” Alva was my best friend, but very bad at keeping track of other people’s possessions.

          Canute, then twelve, pulled me onto his lap then, and began. “The battle in Jotunheim has been won, the peace treaty officially signed. The war is officially over.”

          “Oh,” I say, remembering that the real battle was two years before I was born, when Odin took the Casket of the Ancient Winters from Jotunheim, diminishing the Frost Giants’ power. “But isn’t that good news?”

          “Ingrid, there is more. Although we won, the Asgardians suffered heavy losses. Mother and Father are among the fallen.”

          I remember that moment, when my fragile five-year-old world shattered. “What?”

          “They’re gone, Ingrid.”

---

Ten-year-old Calder was training with his spear at one side of the common room, alone. I faltered when I saw who was in the center of the room, seven-year-old prince Loki, being watched by one of his nurses.

          “Do I have to? This work is so dull! He stared out, crossly, then noticed me. “Who’s that?”

          “One of the daughters of the warriors of Asgard. Pay her no heed.”

          It was always forbidden to talk to the princes when we were younger. “The nurse turned to me, and quickly asked, “Are you lost, dear?”

          “Oh. No ma’am. That boy is my brother.” I pointed at Calder as I said it.

          “Oh, dear. You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

          I didn’t understand, what she was saying, that she knew we were children of the fallen.

          “What happened?” asked Loki, still angry over his arithmetic.

          “Nothing, Loki dear. You mustn’t talk to a lady as such.”

          He must have seen something in me, because he asked, “I’m sorry, Miss. Are you okay?”

          “Yes, Prince Loki,” I said, flushing, as I headed over to Calder.

          “Ingrid?” He only had just noticed me as I approached. “Do you want to take a walk?”

          I followed my brother out of the room, Loki’s eyes still following me, all the way to the door.

          “Ingrid,” said Calder, taking my hand, “I want you to know that Mother and Father fought bravely on Jotunheim. And their deaths were not in vain. There was nothing either of us could have done.”

          “Why was there a treaty? I asked, “Why not just kill them all?”

          “That’s what I’m wondering myself,” said Calder, angrily, “Those murderous monsters! I’ll kill them one day—just you wait!”

---

“I regret what I said that day, “I keep my voice low, struggling to keep eye contact, “I have learned since then. How do you not understand that you cannot define an entire race by the actions of a few?”

          “All of them,” says Calder, angrily, “They are all the same.”

          “No,” I whisper, as Calder returns to his post, no longer pointing a spear at me.

          “Loki? I ask, looking through the glass. His robes are intact, and his hair well-combed, not as I had seen him. “It’s me. You can stop hiding.”

          The illusion takes a look back in the direction of Calder and shakes his head.

          “I am sorry for my brother’s words,” I say, “But I do think that you understand, it is not easy to forgive.”

          “There was something special about you, Ingrid, from the moment I saw you when we were children. I kept a watch on you through the years—is that creepy?”

          “No,” I let out a small laugh, “It’s not creepy. It would be creepy if it were Thor doing it.”

          “That is very true,” says Loki, “But I think you should go.”

---

I inch along the wall, hearing words murmured between Loki and his mother, about his actions, about reading, complaining about the cell, usual stuff. Not a word about Thanos or pleading to Odin…I’m beginning to worry that they forgot...then I hear Loki shout, “HE’S NOT MY FATHER!” Clear as day. More of the same. Hating Odin, wanting to destroy—but it’s the response that catches me.

          “Then am I not your mother?”

          The silence is deafening as I crouch in the corner, waiting. At last, Loki’s answer comes slowly, “You are not.”

---

“Hey, Loki,” I whisper, just loudly enough for him to detect it through the glass. Calder has given up on trying to halt our midnight meetings, just giving me dirtier looks every time. “What made you say that? About your father?”

          “I am angry that I was lied to my entire life—how do you not understand!”

          “At least you have a father,” I couldn’t help it, it slipped out before I could stop it.

          Loki is silent for a moment, then he just says, “I’m sorry. I may not forgive him but given the choices—and I know very well that Frigga is my mother, and I love her as such. I shall apologize to her next time she comes. Crazy—about everything that’s going on—the Aether re-awakened—just think of the power it could bring me—”

          “That’s Thanos talking.”

          “It’s not Thanos. I am selfish, greedy, and desire to rule a realm, to have power. Thanos took advantage of my weakness.”

          “Thor brought Jane Foster to Asgard to get the Aether out of her…” I nod.

          “I’m glad I’m not there to deal with it then,” laughs Loki, but I can tell that he thirsts for freedom, or at least, trust.

---

I am studying in the library when the news explodes throughout the castle. “The Queen is dead. Queen Frigga, slain by the elves, protecting the Aether, and the mortal woman who Thor loves so dearly, the fight isn’t over yet.” I hear the rumors, the news, the words, whispered on every lip. How? How could something like this happen?

          “Hey, Ingrid!” I hear none other than Calder poking me on the shoulder, “What’s up?”

          “I’m just studying…why?”

          “I was just doing my duty—your friend threatened to kill me!”

          “Loki?” I whisper, my voice dropping as to avoid questioning from others.

          “He called me a liar and threatened to kill me! I told you, that killing is in their blood,” says Calder carelessly as he grabs his beer mug and begins to walk away.

          “And wouldn’t you do the same? At ten? To your news bearer? Calder, you understand what it’s like—”

          “It’s only like that for Asgardians, humans, races with the ability to feel actual emotions. And pain. My brother leaves me then and realize that I will never be able to convince him.

---

I don’t want to think about choosing between my friend and my brother, but my feet make the decision, heading for the dungeons.

          “It’s true, isn’t it?”

          Loki is still using illusions, even with Calder gone, and I realize that he truly is hiding from everyone, closing himself off. I wish Thor weren’t busy, planning, for how to save Jane…that’s his path and he chose it, who should I be to judge him for it?

          “Yes,” I whisper, “I’m sorry—about my brother. I’ll try to talk to him—”

          “I don’t really want to kill him, Ingrid, but make him suffer. Make him relive his worst memories.”

          “He’s my brother. Please promise me you won’t harm him.”

          “I don’t promise anyone anything.”    

          “Loki,” I whisper? “Don’t you remember who I am? Ingrid—you saved me on numerous occasions.”

          “As you did for me, and I am eternally grateful.”

          “Loki, why are you hiding? It’s just me.”

          “It’s glass, Ingrid. I don’t want anyone staring at me.”

          “No one will stare at you. Trust me, I’m sure I’ve seen you worse.”

          “No! Do not remind me of that place!”

          “I’m sorry, Loki.”

          “I can’t hide anymore!” he screams, “I don’t care what you see!” The illusions do not fade this time, instead, they splinter into a million tiny pieces as I see Loki in against the glass in simple clothing, his hair for once unkempt. But I was right. I have seen worse. Physically. “It was my fault! I told them to take the stairs to the left! I hate my father so much! I hate him! I hate him!” He begins kicking the glass, hard, and I notice that his foot is bleeding afresh, but it looks like an older wound.

          Everything in the room, yes, even books has been destroyed by his magic in rage. The glass is too thick to yield from his vain efforts, but he tries anyway, throwing himself at the glass, again and again…I know that inside the prison, his powers are severely diminished, but I have learned one thing from my stays with Thanos and Nova. There may not be a way out, but there is always a way in.

          I recall one simple spell I saw him do before, and at my full power, I throw myself at the glass…

          “Ingrid?” Loki’s hands are madly grabbing for anything tangible inside my robes,” “Is it really you? You aren’t an illusion?”

          “I don’t know how to do that yet.” I tell him, honestly, “I’m sorry.”

          “No, this is better—you’re real!”

          “Yeah, I’m real, “I say, trying to calm him, “It’s okay,” I whisper clearing away the fallouts of his attacks from the floor before leaning him against the wall. “What happened to your foot?”

          “It’s nothing, it’s nothing, nothing near what I’ve seen, felt, it’s just a minor cut.”

          “It’s not minor,” I say, “And it’s an old wound. You aren’t letting it heal properly.”

          “I don’t care! Stop fussing over it!”

          “Really, tell me what happened?”

          “It started a few weeks ago, when I stepped on some glass from the vase I broke—I’m sorry, Mother!—and it just got worse and worse, so it became a little game to see how much I could bleed—a contest really. Tuesday was the winner—it was a lot.”

          “You don’t have to hurt yourself,” I try to tell him, but he dismisses it. “Nothing hurts anymore—I can step in glass, I could even get stabbed if it happened—and I wouldn’t feel a thing! I’m not sure if I built a resistance to pain or I stopped caring—or both.”

          “I’m sorry. But please be careful!”

          “Actually, I lied. I don’t feel it, because it all feels the same, everything hurts, lying on the floor—”

          “What happened to your mattress? Did they give you one?”

          “I may have evaporated it in an attempt to get out of here—it wasn’t much anyway.”

          “Ask for another!”

          “It’s my own fault anyway,”

          “Shh, it’s okay. Don’t blame yourself for more things!” I say, pulling his head onto my lap, “Anyways, I’m right here.”